


Sticky Fingers

by Anonymous



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: (acting) drunk!Alex, Crack, F/F, Sanvers - Freeform, some fluff snuck in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A series of cracky vignettes about how Alex earned a wholly unwanted nickname





	Sticky Fingers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [performativezippers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/performativezippers/gifts).



> Happy birthday, friend! I hope your new year brings you all the best things! And may your fingers (and floors) never be this sticky ;)
> 
> You know I love you,  
> XOXO  
> (Not-so-in-on-the-)Gossip Girl

Maggie had thrown the covers off herself before the end of the first beep. Leapt out of bed by the second. Grabbed the old softball bat she kept by the bedside before the jarring third began. She stumbled into the kitchen in time to find her fiancée clambering up onto the stepstool they keep around for when Maggie was home alone or when Alex inevitably did, well, this, and jamming the reset button. It had taken several tries for Maggie to convince Alex that pressing a button could be as satisfying as yanking the smoke alarm off the wall and throwing the whole thing in the trash.

“Good morning,” Maggie yawned, already turning back to the bedroom to put away her bat. (Alex had teased her about the low-tech weapon until Maggie reminded her that a particularly well-placed swing had been precisely what ended the fight against Scorcher during their first mission together.)

“Oh no!” Alex’s head jerked around, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of Maggie in her over-sized DEO sweatpants and tanktop, bat dangling from her right hand, left hand wiping away the last remnants of sleep from her eyes. “Did I wake you?”

Maggie couldn’t help the smirk. “ _You_ didn’t. The alarm may have.”

Alex crossed her arms and scowled at the alarm as if it alone were responsible for the noise.

“So, uh, whatcha making?”

“Um. Breakfast in bed. So I don’t know if maybe you want to go back to bed? Or it can be breakfast at table?”

“You sure you don’t need a hand?” It wasn’t that Maggie was completely opposed to charred toast—after all, she’d been known to traipse back to the toaster with a bagel if it wasn’t appropriately crunchy, even if it made her a few minutes late for work—but certain food groups were…less good when burnt.

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much.”

Maggie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the indignant little huff. “Never said you weren’t. I just thought, well…” Maggie raised her eyebrows and glanced in the direction of the now silent alarm.

“That wasn’t _my_ fault.”

“Oh really? Did aliens do it?”

“I’ll have you know it was one alien in particular who spilled some cheese sauce on the burner and swore she’d clean it up before she left.” Alex turned the force of her glare away from the alarm and back to the stove. “It would seem she did not.”

Maggie took a deep breath, trying not to dwell on how long it had taken them to clean out the oven after that same alien who could soar elegantly through the air managed to trip over her cape and knock a half-baked, sticky chocolate pecan pie off the rack, splattering the walls and bottom of the oven with crystallized sugar and tacky maple syrup that promptly burnt, hardening into sugary stalagmite formations.

“But look! The pancakes aren’t burnt.” Alex proudly held up a tray of what Maggie could admit were, by and large, decent looking pancakes. “We’ll just, you know, warm them in the oven a little, and air out the burnt cheese smell, and they’ll be good as new.”

“I suppose after all the work you’ve put into them…” Maggie’s lips curled up into a smile as she pulled down plates and glasses to set the table while Alex began turning the last of the batter into two large pancakes.

It was just as Maggie had poured her coffee and was settling in to enjoy a wake up that didn’t come with a side of heart palpitations that the first screeching beep blared through the apartment.

She could barely make out the sounds of Alex’s grumbling beneath her breath, catching phrases like: “Just because I’m her big sister…” and, “Seriously, every fucking burner, Kara?”

“I got it,” Maggie called over the clamor, climbing up onto the stool and holding down the reset button while Alex fanned away the smoke. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the noise stopped. Only, when Maggie let go of the button, her thumb remained. “What the…” Maggie squinted, eyeing the alarm. There were the familiar whorls of Alex’s fingerprints, sticky and brown and all over the general vicinity of the button. “Alexandra Danvers!”

Alex spun around, her eyes wide and her lower lip pulled between her teeth. “Um…yes?”

With a firm yank and an uncomfortable sensation that reminded her much too much of being a child and peeling glue off her fingers, Maggie freed her hand. “Let me see your fingers.”

“Oh!” Alex waggled her eyebrows, stepping closer to Maggie. “Is this a game? Are you a demanding boss who needs something from me?”

With a roll of her eyes, Maggie let out a loud huff and dragged Alex’s hands up to her face. “Just as I suspected.”

Alex sent an exaggerated wink in Maggie’s direction. “What is it, detective? Are my hands just what you needed?”

“Only if I need my prime suspect in the case of the sticky smoke alarm.”

Alex’s brow furrowed slightly, but she persevered. “Uh, I’d prefer it if something else were sticky…?”

“No! Alex,” Maggie sighed. “Have I ever been this bad at dirty talk?”

A slight pink tinge colored Alex’s cheeks as she shook her head. “We all have bad days, Maggie. I wouldn’t judge you.”

And Maggie couldn’t quite help the way her heart melted at that. “Good to know. But no, Alex, your hands are literally sticky. And it’s all over our smoke detector.”

“ _Ohhh_.” Maggie let out a snort of laughter as comprehension dawned on Alex. “I may have been getting the syrup ready when the alarm went off.”

“Yeah, I gathered as much when my thumb got stuck to it.”

“Poor dear,” Alex teased, reaching out for Maggie’s hand and kissing the air by her finger.

“Eww! Alex, your fingers are still covered in syrup!” Maggie wrinkled her nose in disgust as she tapped lightly at the tacky residue now coating the back of her hand.

“What?” Alex arched an eyebrow and wiggled her fingers at Maggie. “Afraid of a little mess?”

“Stay away, you…you…sticky fingers!”

That was enough to halt Alex’s progress. “Excuse me?” Alex snorted. “What’d you call me?”

“That’s right. I called you sticky fingers.”

“Oh yeah, because this is such a common state of affairs.”

“You say that now, but next thing I know, it’ll be like having a child around.”

“What?”

“Ya know, kids…their hands are always just a little sticky. Like they rolled in glue, and it’s mainly gone, but you can tell that some of it’s still there.”

“Do tell me more about your theory of children.”

“It’s in that same age range where they always smell like soggy plain Cheerios.”

Alex let out a bark of laughter.

“Whatever, it’s true, Sticky Fingers.”

“Oh my god, stop trying to make that stick.”

“It’ll stick as well as your fingers!”

“How about you stick to police work over puns?”

“Hush. You laugh at my jokes.”

“Maybe I’m laughing at the fact that you think they’re funny.”

“You wound me, Sticky Fingers.”

“Oh fuck off.”

\---

Maggie was enjoying a rare afternoon off of work when her phone buzzed.

 **Kara:** Heyyyy Maggie!

Maggie let out a sigh. Two y’s are normal Kara. Three y’s are questionable—often a very excited or tipsy Kara. Four y’s mean she’s about to be asked to do something. Or be told that there’s another half-baked chocolate pecan pie upside down in her oven. No use prolonging the inevitable, though.

 **Maggie:** What’s up?

 **Kara:** Remember how there was that whole thing where Alex’s becoming director meant she needed to train people in her lab to take over some of her experiments?

Maggie remembered the temper tantrum about it, that was for sure. She remembered the indignant: “Maggie! They’re forcing me out of my lab _and_ they think some probie can take over! Can you believe it? They think some fresh-out-of-grad-school child is going to be able to handle this.”

 **Maggie:** I do. Let me guess, Alex doesn’t like her trainee?

 **Kara:** Well…she actually likes one of them.

 **Maggie:** Oh boy. You’re telling me the first time they’ve made her let anyone that wasn’t J’onn into her lab, they made her let in multiple people?

 **Kara:** You know no one else would have been able to do half of the work she did without a time turner.

 **Maggie:** You also watched the ABC Family Harry Potter marathon this weekend?

 **Kara:** OBVIOUSLY!!

 **Maggie:** Anyway, so okay, Alex’s lab + lots of baby agents = disaster?

 **Kara:** Two of them were fine. One was a little, um, cocky?

 **Maggie:** And they let him go near Alex’s lab before letting her wipe the floor with him in the sparring room???

 **Kara:** Things are being rushed!

 **Kara:** No one quite expected J’onn to leave as quickly as he did!

 **Kara:** Point is: there was a, um, accident? I don’t know. Vasquez was by the door and reported, and I’ll quote: “There was a crash. Then dead silence.”

 **Maggie:** On the plus side, he’ll never be cocky again if he’s faced off against quiet-mad Alex.

 **Kara:** Yeah, um, he may also be missing an eyebrow now… Some of those alien chemicals aren’t quite what he was used to working with at MIT.

 **Maggie:** I’ll require a photograph.

 **Maggie:** Will the DEO pay for it if I print it on posterboard with lab safety instructions to hang in Alex’s office? It’s educational. Like those photos of rotten lungs we used to get in DARE.

 **Kara:** Maybe. Anyway, the probies are gone, but Alex was cleaning all alone, and some of the fumes made her a little…loopy. Doc says it’s nothing toxic, but she really shouldn’t be here like this. Can you come get her?

 **Maggie:** Be there in 15.

 

Kara met Maggie at the doorway to walk her down to Alex’s lab, explaining that she’d put away the offending compound—an oil from Daxam (“Where else?”) that was burned to lower people’s inhibitions (“Because of course it was”)—but that the effects would take several hours to wear off, possibly slightly longer given that Alex was human. “I thought it was best if Alex stayed in the lab so that no one, um, saw her like this…”

“By _this_ you mean…?”

“Well, on the plus side, she doesn’t seem to have gotten some of the side effects that Daxamites just loved.” Kara wrinkled her nose, giving Maggie a decent enough idea of what some of them might have been. “But she’s sort of like…like the happiest drunk you’ve ever met.” Kara gave a firm nod of her head as if that settled the matter.

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Yeah, no, it’s definitely, totally, 100-percent fine.”

“You’re making me less sure.”

“Maybe just don’t drive home on a motorcycle…”

“And you can’t fly her home?”

Kara grimaced. “Our first attempt at getting airborne did not go well…”

“Right then.”

“Good luck!”

“Thanks, Supergirl.”

With a little wave, Kara was off, and Maggie let herself into Alex’s lab. It took a few seconds for her to notice Alex, clad in one of the old DEO polos Alex sometimes came home in when her other clothing required industrial cleaning. Her back was to the door as she hunched over a lab table. Maggie cocked her head to the side, watching silently for a few minutes. Alex seemed focused enough on whatever she was doing to miss the fact that someone else had entered the lab, which was typical enough when she’d gotten immersed in research. Maybe the effects had already worn off.

Clearing her throat to alert Alex to her presence, Maggie asked, “Hey, babe, whatcha doing?”

The goofy, full-faced smile Maggie got in return suggested that maybe it was still in effect a little bit.

“Haven’t you _alwayyyysss_ wondered…” Alex began, her words slow, slurring together at the ends, “what’d be like to be in a petri dish?”

“Um…can’t say I’ve ever wondered that, no.”

“Or like, ’member that show? That show Kara and I watched sometimes?”

“Uh…”

“Double Dare!”

“Oh! Okay, um, yeah. What about it?”

“Do you think…do you think being in a petri dish…is it like gettin’ slimed?”

“Maybe.” Maggie couldn’t say she’d honestly ever given the matter much thought.

“Is slime like agar?” Alex giggled. “Agar.” She grinned. “A ** _gar_**. **_A_** gar. Ah-gaaaar.” Maggie couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “’S a funny word.” Maggie didn’t point out that the word was much less funny than the woman rolling it around her mouth.

“Why don’t we get you home and we can do some research?”

“Can’t go.”

Maggie cocked her head to the side. “Why’s that, dear?”

“In the middle of an experiment.” And like that, Alex’s full attention was back on the lab table.

Maggie raced forward, wanting to stop Alex from surely messing up whatever experiment she’d been running. She swore Kara had mentioned something about locking up anything important, but they must have missed something. Only, when Maggie made it around, she found Alex with an oversized tub full of the sticky gelatinous substance that she was fairly certain filled petri dishes. Agar, she supposed. She watched as Alex plunged her full hand into the bin, counting aloud, “One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” then removing it with one of those overly serious nods that could only ever come from someone drunk. Or virtually drunk on alien essential oils. Eau de Daxam.

As Alex moved to put her other hand in the bin, Maggie reached out a hand, grabbing her wrist before she could make it any further. “No you don’t!”

“Need it. Gotta have lotsa tests. Lotsa variables. Good science for good results.”

Maggie hummed in fake agreement. “How could I ever argue with that logic?”

“Mhmm.”

“But I think you should save this particular experiment for tomorrow.”

“Too important to wait.”

“Hey now, what did you say about needing to do good science to get good results? Isn’t patience part of that?”

With an exaggerated huff, Alex begrudgingly gave one small, sullen nod of her head.

“So then tomorrow, okay? And we’ll go home tonight and order pizza with all your favorite toppings.”

“Okay!” And with that Alex happily spun on her heels, clasping Maggie’s hand with her own and dragging her to the door.

Grimacing at the slimy substance now coating her hand, Maggie muttered, “You’re never getting rid of your nickname, Sticky Fingers.”

“What?”

“Nothing, dear. Tell you tomorrow.”

\---

“This is what happens when you try to fight fate on a nickname,” Maggie snorted, her eyes roaming up and down Alex’s once-black suit that had been soaked in green sludge during the latest alien battle downtown. Well really her whole body had been soaked in green sludge. And at first Maggie had panicked, but after she received confirmation that it was a non-toxic defensive mechanism (though certainly an offensive-smelling one), her panic gave way to amusement.

“Nicknames are supposed to be cool,” Alex whined. “There’s nothing cool about Sticky Fingers. I want a new one.”

“Nope, they’re like wands. You don’t choose the nickname. The nickname chooses you.”

“Oh my god, did you and Kara binge-watch all the Harry Potter movies again?”

“Excuse me, do you think I’m a child?” Maggie shot back, folding her arms over her chest.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Obviously we didn’t have time for that sort of nonsense when Winn just got the new Lego Harry Potter video game.”

“Ah right…so much more grown-up.”

“A credit card was required to purchase it, so, uh, yeah.”

Maggie missed half of Alex’s words through the thick towel she was using to try to wipe away what appeared to be rather stubborn sludge still clinging to her hair, but it sounded a lot like: “Spending too much time with Winn.”

“Anyway, point is, you can’t decide you want a new nickname and get one. Did Supergirl ask to be called Supergirl?”

“Okay, not fair. Supergirl put herself in the media, and also, it’s still a _superhero_ name. Even if there were better alternatives, it’s pretty much guaranteed to be cool.”

“Not what you said when Guardian hit the news…”

“Okay, but he wrote the headlines himself!”

“Which is exactly why you can’t pick your own nickname.” Maggie grinned triumphantly as Alex grumbled about them being different things. “You think I wanted to be Short Stuff all through college?”

“Wait, what?”

Maggie shrugged. “Played short stop. Might be considered short by some people.”

“Most people, Sawyer.”

“Whatever, Sticky Fingers.”

“I’ll take Short Stop over that.”

“Do you play short stop?”

“…no.”

“Are you short?”

“…I mean, Kara’s taller than me.”

“Good try. Nickname stays.”

\---

Maggie had intended for the nickname to be a joke between the two of them. And really, it was. She used it sparingly—mainly when Alex managed to make some sort of mess in the kitchen or found herself coated in something from a lab experiment gone wrong or an alien gone rogue. But when they were out at the bar and Winn sloshed a pitcher of margaritas while trying to fill Alex’s glass, spilling a fair amount all over her hand, Maggie couldn’t help it. The situation fit. And it slipped out.

“Typical Sticky Fingers.”

She didn’t quite realize she’d said anything until the table descended into silence.

“Uh…what’s up?”

The deepening flush on Alex’s cheeks and the particular glare being sent her way clued her in fast enough.

“Oh! Oh, um, it’s just…stupid nickname. No need for anyone to use it.”

But Winn was already smiling too broadly to think that he’d ever forget it. “I think we should get it on a plaque for your fancy director office.”

“Watch it, Schott,” Alex growled.

“World’s stickiest fingers, perhaps?” Maggie suggested, giggling at the look of betrayal being sent her way. And okay, maybe the margaritas were not helping her keep her mouth shut.

“You’re both dead to me.”

“Aww, why’s that?” Kara asked, slipping back into the booth beside Lena before reaching out to pluck a fry from the basket in the middle of the table.

“Because she doesn’t like her nickname,” Lena whispered.

“Wait. Alex has a nickname? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Because it’s not a nickname!” Alex crossed her dry arm over her chest and glared between Maggie and Winn, daring either of them to continue the conversation.

“But if you wanted to use it, it’s Sticky Fingers!” Winn yelped before a sticky, strawberry margarita-coated hand covered his mouth.

“It is not! And even if it were, only Maggie is allowed to use it.”

Kara tilted her head to the side before paling, her nose crinkling as she shook her head vehemently from side to side. “Ew, Rao! I did not need that image!”

“No!” Alex yelped. “That’s not it! Tell her, Maggie!”

But Maggie was too busy cackling, her head thrown back and tears of laughter gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“No, it’s, first of all, it’s totally your fault. With your stupid mac and cheese. And then there was the smoke detector and some syrup. And then the whole Daxam oil thing. And—”

“No! No more! I don’t want details!”

\---

Humiliating as it all was, Alex was pleased that the incident seemed to have brought about an end to the nickname. For two whole weeks, she was simply Alex. Or Danvers. Or Director Danvers. Suddenly nervous that it had sexual connotations that had flown over his head, Winn had stopped joking about it, and Kara wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. Even Maggie hadn’t casually dropped it into conversation around the apartment the way she had taken to doing.

Of course, two weeks was more than she should have hoped for.

Because two weeks brought the arrival of the only woman who seemed capable of knowing all the gossip no matter how long she’d been away.

And two weeks also brought the arrival of a small, perfectly wrapped present containing a DEO-black mug with the words, “Director Sticky Fingers,” printed on it in a stark white font.


End file.
